


If the Fates Allow

by lady_mab



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: All I want in life is Simon being involved in Walker family events, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Post Season 2, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, and a season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2776583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_mab/pseuds/lady_mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon visits the Walker household for Christmas celebrations. Things aren't said that should be, Frank Sinatra croons on the radio, and Christmas Spirit acts as an adhesive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [In the Flesh Advent Calendar project](http://intheflesh-art.tumblr.com/tagged/advent-calendar)! It was so much fun getting to participate and paired with some amazing artists. A huge thank you to [charlesdraws](http://charlesdrawz.tumblr.com/) for encouraging the whole ugly sweater idea and your fabulous art, and thank you to [intheflesh-art](http://intheflesh-art.tumblr.com/) for organizing this. I'll update later when I have more links to hand out. 
> 
> Thank you to Amanda and Maria for betaing! 
> 
> (As a side note, I have written some other stuff for this that will be up eventually!) 
> 
> Sweaters: [Simon](http://cdn-s3-3.wanelo.com/product/image/2539393/original.jpg), [Kieren](http://i5.asn.im/christmas-sweaters-casual-_tib2.jpg), [Jem](http://i00.i.aliimg.com/wsphoto/v1/636979200_1/-font-b-sweaters-b-font-women-fashion-dimond-plaid-christmas-deer-font-b-reindeer-b.jpg), [Sue](http://theuglysweatershop.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/Happy-Santas-Tacky-Ugly-Christmas-Sweater-Womens-Size-Petite-Small-PS.jpg), and [Steve](http://theuglysweatershop.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/Vintage-70s-Mens-Ski-Ugly-Christmas-Sweater-510x510.jpg)!

Simon sat awkwardly in the middle of the Walker’s living room, the sounds of everyone talking at once and the radio wearily bleating Christmas tunes washing over him, the fireplace alive with a fire he couldn’t feel. There was so much activity that he was overwhelmed. Didn’t know where to look, or what to focus on.

Kieren’s toes nudged the bottom of his foot, and he turned in response. The boy wore a silver paper crown, the remains of the Christmas popper scattered on the floor between them. “Are you okay?” His voice was low, but it was a gentle undercurrent that he succumbed to to avoid the tide of the rest of the room.

“I’m fine.”

Kieren’s head ticked to the side, and the crown slipped a fraction.

He smiled, reached out to adjust the crown, and didn’t quite let his hand drop away fast enough. “I mean it. I just haven’t had a Christmas like this in... well... a very long time.”

This earned him a small smile and a nod in return, before their silent interlude was interrupted by the arrival of Jemima. She threw herself down onto the floor alongside her brother, half on top of him. Kieren attempted to disguise his wince of pain with an overly dramatic twist of his features, but it was a bit too real to hide. “Jem, don’t you have someone else’s lap to sit on? Like Santa or something?”

She tweaked his ear, and this too pulled a wince from him. (Things that shouldn’t hurt him were. Nerve endings reconnecting. Faster and faster. Simon wondered if he was jealous.) “I’m old enough to not believe in Santa, little bro.” Jemima leaned over and pulled a brightly wrapped box to her side and held it up, mostly for Simon’s benefit. It was labeled _To: Jem From: Santa_ , clearly in Kieren’s handwriting. But if you’re signing things as Santa now, then while I’m here, I’m going to ask for a puppy.”

“I’m not getting you a puppy.” He shifted his sister all the way out of his lap and she rested her head on his shoulder. “You have to ask Mum about that one.”

“Ask me about what?” Sue entered the sitting area, carrying a stack of boxes in identical red wrapping, tiny green trees, and silver ribbon.

Jemima took one look at the boxes, then at her mother, and seemed to put two and two together a lot faster than either Simon or Kieren. “No. Ooooh, no.”

“Jem, it’s tradition.”

“No, it’s not. It hasn’t been for like, six years.”

Kieren stiffened at her side, but she didn’t seem to notice. (It was Simon’s turn to nudge the exposed bottom of his foot. A pair of eyes turned in his direction and the flash of a grateful tilt of lips answered the nudge.)

Sue gave daughter a pointed look, and passed out the boxes: One to Jemima, one to Kieren, and one to Simon.

“What--” he started, taking the box without even thinking. He held it in his hand, staring at the graceful, confident script that said _To: Simon_ in black marker. “I can’t-- I can’t accept this. I don’t have anything to give--”

“Nonsense,” Steve said as he came to stand next to Sue. And with his arrival, it was Kieren’s turn to put two and two together and he released an _oooooh_. “You saved Kieren. Besides, way I heard it, you only came here with Amy, and now that she’s... well... now that she’s gone, you’re on your own.”

Simon wondered if the hollow feeling in his chest was natural -- that even if his heart was still beating, if he would feel this empty. It was true. He came to Roarton with Amy at his side and the words of the Prophet on his tongue and in his ears. He lost Amy, and he ignored the Prophet’s orders.

Everything he once was was gone.

Kieren’s socked foot pressed against his, not even bothering with a gentle nudge. (He still had Kieren, but even he was changing. Even he was going to be different, soon.)

Simon swallowed, unwilling to admit how close he had been to not saving Kieren. “Thank you.”

Steve didn’t quite smile, but he clapped Simon on the shoulder, ruffled his son’s hair, and moved back across the room to the couch.

Jemima scooted away from her brother, closer to the fire, and began to undo the tape holding the wrapping paper in place.

Curious, Simon turned to his own box. He traced the marker with the tip of his finger, committing the curve of the letters to memory. Then he slid his fingers beneath the flap to work the tape free.

Kieren watched him, mimicking the same intensity that had always been used on him. Once the nondescript box was removed from the paper, the boy looked away and fiddled with his own box. “Sorry if it makes you feel awkward.”

“I’m more sorry I didn’t think to get anything for you.”

“Don’t,” he said, and ducked his head. His long fingers picked idly at the silver ribbon. “It’s enough that you accepted the invitation to come to spend with Christmas with us.”

“Like Steve said. I don’t have much else.” Simon reached out as Kieren’s head ducked lower still. “I like spending time with you. And your family.” He could start to see why Amy was so fascinated with the Walkers. Their acceptance, regardless of how fragile and wary it was, of their son and the people he brought into his new life spoke bounds of how close they had been.

Not like his dad. Even before--

Simon distracted himself with the box in his lap, pulling off the top to reveal a green sweater, decorated with white reindeer. His breath left him in a huff of laughter, and he pulled it out to view the whole thing.

“Sorry, we didn’t know what size would be good for you. But always better too big than too small, right?” Sue offered from her spot on the couch.

Simon finally realized why the Walker siblings had realized what was in the boxes when he looked back at the couple on the couch. They were both wearing Christmas sweaters of their own -- Sue in a blue jumper with little Santas, and Steve in one with an array of colors and patterns.

Across the way, Jemima pulled out one that had two reindeer on the shoulders with simple geometric patterns. At his side, Kieren finished unwrapping his to reveal a red and white sweater with two moose. He tugged off his crown and admired the design. The siblings pulled on their sweaters despite Jemima’s feigned annoyance and eye-roll.

Kieren nudged his foot and offered up a tiny smile. His hair stuck out at strange angles from the static of the wool. “Put it on. Like Jem said: Tradition.”

Simon felt more like an intruder than he did before. Still, he wasn’t one to deny Kieren anything. He pulled off his original green sweater and tugged the new one on.

His head emerged from the hole to find Kieren kneeling in front of him, impish twist to his lips that would have made his heart flutter. The boy placed a fuzzy santa hat atop his head, fussing with the way it fell for longer than absolutely necessary -- but he wasn’t about to complain.

As Kieren sat back on his heels to survey the result, Simon spotted Jemima scooting silently toward them. She caught his glance, held up a finger to her lips and winked. So he did his job in distracting.

“Do you really get Christmas sweaters every year?”

“Every other year,” Kieren said. “We donate them at the end of summer before getting our new ones so we don’t have a stockpile of them.”

“Oh. I was hoping I could see your collection of sweaters from Christmases past.” He almost winced as he said those words. _It hasn’t been for six years_ , Jemima said. The year Kieren died would have been another sweater year.

Luckily, that line of thought was cut off as Jemima successfully placed a pair of plush reindeer antlers atop her brother’s head.

He yelped in surprise, hands flying to his head to feel just how ridiculous they were. Jemima placed a splendid kiss upon his cheek and retreated to her spot with a teasing laugh. “They look good on you, Kier!” she said.

They did, though Simon had to press his lips together to keep from contributing.

He started to take them off, but Jemima stopped with with a series of disapproving noises. “They’re glued on with the spirit of Christmas!”

Kieren sighed and let his hands fall back into his lap. “I guess I can’t complain about them giving me a headache after a while, huh...”

The self-deprecating Risen humor still had a tough time going over with the family, but they took it in stride as best they could. “There’s still a few more presents under the tree,” Sue said, pushing herself back to her feet. “I need to check on the roast!”

Simon shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at his hands for lack of anything better to study. And then, to his surprise, Kieren passed a long, narrow parcel over to him. The hasty scrawl read _To Simon --K_.

“I didn’t get you anything,” he muttered as Kieren settled down next to him, a gift from his sister in his lap. (That wasn’t strictly true. There was a small box in the pocket of his jacket, but he couldn’t bring himself to give it to Kieren. Not yet. Probably not for awhile. Didn’t hurt to be prepared.)

“You don’t have to.” Their shoulders were touching. He didn’t even bother to maintain the distance that had been set up between them until that point. “You stayed.”

“I stayed because you did.”

“You didn’t have to. You... you probably shouldn’t have.” Kieren’s voice was low, barely audible over the chattering of everyone else and the hum of the radio. Simon felt himself leaning in closer, just to make sure he heard every word. “The Prophet--”

He reached out and let his hand rest on Kieren’s leg. “We’ll worry about it when it happens.”

Kieren reached out, fingers hooking weakly onto his sweater. “Simon. Don’t put yourself into danger on my account. I don’t want to see you hurt. Again.”

A bullet between the shoulders was not nearly enough to make up for what would have happened otherwise. He would gladly take a hundred more bullets if it meant that he could repent for the idea of sticking a blade into Kieren’s spine. “I like to think that I’m doing it to be selfish,” he said, close enough now that their foreheads were almost touching. He applied the slightest bit of pressure to the leg beneath his grasp.

It was only when Kieren’s nose bumped against his that he realized how quiet the rest of the room had gotten. Only the crooning of the radio ( _I’m dreaming of a white Christmas--_ ) filled the silence.

“You know, if you’d like, I could bring the mistletoe over,” Jemima teased. “To help you get into the holiday spirit, and all.”

“ _Jem_ \--” Kieren groaned, pulling away.

He caught the briefest glance of Jemima gloating on the other end of the room, and Steve looking rather startled, but not immediately angry.

It was Simon’s turn to duck his head, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. He shouldn’t have done that. The Walkers were nice enough to invite him over for Christmas. The last thing he wanted to do was to make them uncomfortable in their own home. Especially when it involved the son they were already uncomfortable with. Instead, he did his best to focus his attention on the parcel in his lap.

Kieren picked nervously at the wrapping on his gift from his sister, biting his lower lip as he watched Simon peel off the wrapping paper. (He wished that the boy wouldn’t do that. Not when he was already thinking about that mouth.)

A canvas was revealed after the paper was pulled away. The background, a dark purple, and there were three people across the foreground. He didn’t even have to stop to think who they were. Himself, Amy, and Kieren.

Simon traced his fingers along the edge of the canvas, speechless. He had seen Kieren’s art -- it hung all over the walls, and he had left a sketch of Amy as one of her send-off gifts. He never thought he would be one of the subjects, much less alone receive one of the paintings.

“Sorry,” Kieren hastened to say, misinterpreting his silence. “I’m not good at much else. Otherwise, I’m pretty shite with gifts.”

“Kieren, it’s perfect.” Something inside of him did an unsettling twist -- his gut, perhaps, in the absence of a heart to skip a beat. “I love it.” And, quieter, barely audible, he whispered, “Amy would love it.”

There was a moment before Kieren’s hand reached out and squeezed his -- the briefest application of pressure before he withdrew his grip to his present. _Thank you_ , it said, and he bumped their shoulders together in response.

_Always._

The remaining three presents were opened (Kieren received a photo and phrasebook for France from Jemima, and she received a painting of a French cafe that he had done and the two of them shared a laugh trying to find something similar in the pages of his new book) (Jemima received a new mix CD from Santa, and she gave her brother a hug without saying anything). They joined the pile of presents from earlier in the day, ones that had been opened before Simon arrived.

The rest of the afternoon was spent crowded around the small coffee table in the sitting room, board game after board game brought out. The background audio shifted from songs to a Christmas movie on the telly at one point.

And yet, despite everything, the overwhelming feeling of family that would have threatened to drown him in the past only made Simon feel like he was floating along. Under that, he understood it as being _happy_.

It was close to four in the afternoon, with Kieren and Jemima arguing over what movie to watch next (it was down to _Scrooged_ versus _Santa Claus Conquers the Martians_ ), when Steve settled down onto the couch alongside Simon.

He immediately shifted, sitting up straighter and wondering just how intensely he had been watching Kieren until that point.

But Steve didn’t seem to notice. He sighed and took a fortifying sip of his tea. “Are you enjoying yourself, Simon?”

He was, very much. “Yes, sir.”

He received a huff and a muttered _sir_ , and wondered if he shouldn’t have said that, but Steve looked more amused by the title than annoyed. “What were Christmases like for you? Before you... well...”

Simon considered several answers. Christmas after he had left the house were generally spent very cold, and sometimes a combination of drunk or high. That was not the right answer to give. “Generally a quiet and solemn affair,” he finally said. “In the good Irish Catholic way of things.”

As if on cue, the two on the floor shouted in victory and held _A Muppet Christmas Carol_ aloft as their movie of choice.

He couldn’t help the way his eyes were automatically drawn to Kieren. He couldn’t help the way he wished he had known the boy before this -- before the Prophet, before his overdose, before his dad kicked him out of the house. (Before Rick. Before his heart broke to a million little pieces.)

“I’m glad you decided to join us.” Steve said after a long pause. “Now, I don’t know what sort of things you had been tangled up in until coming to Roarton, but...” He trailed off, and Simon braced himself for being reprimanded.

He brought what he had been tangled up in to Roarton, and it caused Amy’s second death and almost brought about Kieren’s. In his lap, his hands started to tremble. He pulled at the cuffs of his new sweater to try and distract himself.

“But you being here, well. It’s good for Kier. And don’t try to tell me it’s nothing, because it’s not nothing.” Steve’s voice trickled off, as if he had more that he wanted to say but forgot how to say it. In the end, he just snapped his jaw shut, patted Simon on the shoulder, and levered himself back to his feet. “Thank you.”

Simon watched him leave, confusion and awe fighting for control of his face. Even when he felt a pair of hands land on his legs, it took him several seconds to snap out of his daze to turn and find Kieren on the floor in front of him.

The boy gripped his knees and rested his chin atop his hands. “Are you alright? My dad didn’t say anything weird, did he?”

“No, he...” He trailed off, letting one hand go to adjust the way Kieren’s hair stuck out around the headband. “I was just thinking about my family.”

Kieren lowered his eyes, so all he could see was the sweep of pale eyelashes. “Alright.” He pushed himself to his feet, and shifted to move, when Sue’s voice floated out from the kitchen.

“Turn off the telly, Jem, dinner is ready.”

“Muuuuum! We were just about to watch a movie!”

“Put the radio back on, and watch it after. Come on, now. Kieren, Simon, you too.”

He rose and was about to head off to the table, knowing that the Walkers liked to have their son present even if he wasn’t eating, when Kieren caught onto his hand.

“Mum, is that okay if Simon and I don’t sit with you?”

Sue and Steve glanced over, startled. They couldn’t see the way Kieren twined his fingers around Simon’s, as they stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the tree. “Do you... plan on going out, honey?”

“No, I just want to talk to him. We wouldn’t be eating, anyway.”

His parents visibly hesitated, not wanting to have their routine be disrupted on today of all days. But then his mom smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

Kieren pulled away to turn on the stereo, back to the Christmas tunes, as Jemima dragged her feet over to the dining room. He scooped the silver crown from the popper off the floor and set it on her head as she passed.

“Git,” she said fondly, and pinched one of his antlers.

Simon remained where he was, wondering if now he was going to get scolded. If he had done something to upset Kieren.

“Are you sure everything is fine?” was the first thing out of Kieren’s mouth when he rejoined Simon’s side. The radio resumed the carols and there was the clatter of plates and silverware from the kitchen, and everything felt so _perfect_ that he wasn’t too sure he heard the question correctly.

Maybe it was that he interpreted the question the wrong way. So before he could answer that _yes, everything is fine_ , he considered how he felt.

Kieren refused to meet his gaze, like he didn’t want any sort of answer that didn’t come from his mouth. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, studying the Christmas tree.

“I’m...” he finally started, words thick on his tongue. He was used to expressing lines from a script. _The words of the Prophet, manipulated until they are sweet to your ears -- until you hear what you want to hear_. “I think I’m a little jealous.”

Now Kieren looked at him, but he continued to stare at the lights twinkling from between the pine needles. “Jealous?” Try as he might, he was unable to disguise the hint of a laugh on his voice. “Of this messed up family?”

“Kieren--”

“Sorry, no, I guess I get it.” The boy shoved his hands into his pockets, their arms bumping together with the motion. “Sorry. What was your family like?”

He didn’t want to answer that. Not truthfully, not to someone who thought his own family was a mess (the Walkers did their best, and that was more than he ever got). “My family was a mess.” It probably still was, but it had been over two years since he spoke to his father. “You’re lucky.”

Kieren licked his lips, probably a force of habit from when he was still alive. Probably a habit coming back as he starts to feel again. (Simon realized he was jealous of more than just Kieren’s family, and he hated himself for thinking he could have taken it away all over again. Two weeks wasn't nearly enough time to get over the absent feeling of the bone-saw gripped in his hand.)

“About the Prophet--”

Simon winced, wondering how obvious his train of thought had been. “Kier--”

“I want to talk about it.”

“I don’t.” The two of them turned at the same time, and Simon marveled at how mature Kieren looked. When did that happen? He had blinked, and suddenly the doe-eyed boy trying to fit in with the society that rejected him became someone to notice. He stood straighter, made eye contact without flinching, and did it all without the cover of makeup and contacts. “I will, but not now. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Simon reached to the tree and the tips of his fingers toyed with a _Baby’s First Christmas - 1991 - Kieren_ ornament. So much life that he wouldn’t be able to know.

“New Years Eve,” Kieren said suddenly.

He looked over. “What?”

“I’m spending New Years Eve with you at the bungalow.” He announced this so matter of factly that it almost convinced Simon that it was something they had agreed upon weeks ago and he had simply forgotten. “And you are going to tell me before the clock strikes the new year.”

And as he was never one to deny Kieren anything, he simply said, “Alright.” Then, “But only if you dance with me.”

It was Kieren’s turn to blink at him in disbelief. “What?”

Simon shrugged and held out a hand. “Frank Sinatra is singing on the radio, your family is eating dinner, we’re standing here in Christmas jumpers and you have the most ridiculous pair of antlers on. I would like to dance with you if I could, Kieren Walker.”

He received a laugh, although Kieren’s eyes darted nervously to his family in the other room. “But--”

“They’re not paying attention. It’s not like I’m asking you to throw the Christmas tree in the fire or anything rebellious like that.” He ducked his head slightly, so he could look up at Kieren. “Indulge me this once.”

Kieren huffed and shuffled his feet, but in the end he took the step to close the distance between them and took Simon’s hand.

If he had a heart to stop, it would have as Kieren’s other hand came to a rest around the back of his neck. He wrapped his arm around the boy’s waist and shifted his grip on the hand in his. Their feet remained hidden in the remains of wrapping paper and fallen pine needles, but they swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the song ( _Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow -- hang a shining star upon the highest bough_ ).

Kieren stepped in closer, pressing his forehead to Simon’s shoulder. His arm curled tighter around his waist in response and he rested his cheek on top of Kieren’s head. He closed his eyes, barely aware as the song shifted ( _I’m dreaming tonight of a place I love, even more than I usually do_ ).

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed until Kieren stirred in his grip, and suddenly he jerked back and said, “Mum, put that stupid camera away!”

Simon’s hands sprung away to give him room to retreat, and he turned to find Sue standing in the threshold between the dining room and the sitting room with a camera in one hand and the other pressed to her cheek.

“Sorry, Kier honey, sorry! You both just look... very _happy_.” She made a show of putting down the camera on the side table before returning to the dining room.

Behind her, Steve was pointedly _not looking_. Jemima watched with a smirk that promised future teasing, and mouthed the word _mistletoe_ with a wink.

“Git,” Kieren breathed, the word coming out on a huff of laughter to mimic his sister earlier. To Simon, he gave a self-deprecating smile that was far more endearing than it probably was meant to be. “Are you sure you’re jealous of them still?”

Simon lifted a hand and caught onto Kieren’s chin -- light enough that he could pull away without resistance. But as he brushed his thumb over the swell of lips, Kieren’s eyelids fluttered shut and his breath caught in his throat. He had probably been able to feel that. “You’re very lucky.”

“I know,” he said, and this time, his smile was shy and content and a million things at all once. “And so are you.” Before Simon could get the chance to ask what he meant, Kieren looked at him and the smile widened. “Because you get to be here with me.”

He couldn’t find the appropriate response for a long time. But Kieren stood there, toe to toe, and waited, patiently. In the end, all he could manage was his own crooked half-smile and said, “Yeah. I am.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sue was the first to go off to bed, then Steve shortly after. Jem held on until the end of the movie, but was unable to go on after that. 

As soon as the sound of her door closing echoed through the house, Kieren levered himself up off the couch (where he had been maintaining a manageable distance from Simon) and went to change the BluRay. "Anything you feel like watching?"

“Not in particular. You go ahead and pick.” 

“I picked the last one.” 

Simon smiled, more to himself than to Kieren. The only light was coming from the porch, filtered through the blinds, and the telly. “I like learning about your movie preferences.” 

There was a grumble from the figure hunched over the discs, but then a new movie started and Kieren came back to the couch. Instead of returning to his spot near Simon’s feet, where he had been curled up before, he sat down shoulder to shoulder. 

It only took a second before he responded, shifting his position so Kieren could lean into him and draping his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “I like this, too.” He could hear the faint sound of the smile taking over Kieren’s expression before the previews began. 

The budding comfort fell away the moment the title screen appeared. _It’s A Wonderful Life._

“Oh,” Simon said. He hadn’t even realized he had started to shift until Kieren sat up and stared down at him in concern. 

“You don’t like this movie?” 

“No, it’s... It was one of my mother’s favorites...” He reached for Kieren’s shoulders and pulled him back down into his embrace -- if only so he wouldn’t have to see that expression. “I just haven’t thought about it for a long time.” 

It was Kieren’s turn to shift uncomfortably, but then he settled back into place and tucked his head beneath Simon’s chin. “It’s one of my favorites. Jem hates it now...” 

Frankly, Simon couldn’t blame her. She had six years to see what it would be like to live after her brother committed suicide. Movies with that sort of theme would hit too close to home. (It being one of his mother’s favorites almost made it too hard to watch. He couldn’t tell Kieren why -- not yet.)

They remained curled together on the couch for the duration of the movie. The clock read 2:15 by the time the credits rolled. Although Kieren stretched, extending his long limbs to their fullest, Simon kept his arm around his waist in a loose embrace. 

“I should get going,” he murmured, despite the fact that he was the most comfortable he could ever remember being -- even when alive. “It’s late.” 

Without saying anything, Kieren helped him to his feet and together they headed for the door. “Do you want me to talk you back?” 

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want you to have to walk all the way back home in the dark by yourself.” Simon pulled open the front door and stepped into the covered walkway that lead to the driveway. 

Kieren stood in the doorway, the yellow light casting strange shadows on his face as a stream of emotions flickered by. “Hold on.” 

“What--” 

But he was already gone, disappearing into the darkness of the house. There were a few bangs and a muttered curse before he reappeared, clutching something in his hand. 

Kieren stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him. He looked like he was fighting back a tide, trying to decide if he wanted to do something or not. In the end, he lifted his hand over his head and from it, dangled a branch with dark green leaves and a cluster of white berries. 

Simon stared at it in surprise, then back to Kieren. He knew from the expression alone that, had they been alive, a fierce blush would have been coloring those delicate cheekbones. It certainly wasn’t the first time that he was glad he didn’t have a heart to start thudding frantically in his chest and drown out his other senses. “Oh.” When was the last time he had been breathless?!

“Your Christmas present to me,” Kieren started, but he didn’t have the chance to finish. 

Simon swooped in and crushed their mouths together. He leaned into the kiss with such force that Kieren was forced to retreat a step until his back was pressed against the door. 

Kieren dropped the mistletoe branch to twine his arms around Simon. One hand raked back through his untidy hair, and he felt the distant sensation of fingers gripping the strands. 

He had only ever been kissed like this once before, back when he was alive. Even now, six years of being dead, five years since it happened, he could still remember the little details about it. (Compared to then, this one was better, even with the absence of the taste, the minute scrape of teeth or nails. Maybe it was who he had pinned beneath him.)

(And judging by the hitch in Kieren’s breath, he was getting a trace of those feelings.) (He wished they could have kissed like this while alive. He wouldn’t have been willing to let the boy go any time in the near future had blood still been pumping through his veins.) 

Slowly, reluctantly, Simon drew back from his mouth. He enjoyed the flutter of long, pale eyelashes over high cheekbones as he deliberately nipped Kieren’s lower lip. “Come back to the bungalow with me,” he said, surprised to hear how low and rough his voice sounded in his own ears. Not much that they could actually do, given that being dead put a damper on things. But he wasn’t too keen on surrendering his grip just yet. 

Kieren looked sorely tempted by the offer, but he shook his head. “I can’t. Mom and Dad would freak if they woke up and I wasn’t home.” 

He had to concede to that point. “I won’t let you go home on New Years Eve, though, you understand?” This earned him a shy smile and the bump of noses. 

“I know. Do you want to stay the night?” It was an invitation to make up for the distance that had been put between them. The whirlwind two weeks that they still didn’t talk about had erected a barrier (and not for a lack of trying; Simon just could never bring himself to confess his guilts to Kieren). 

Step by step, they were trying to take it down. 

“I would like that,” he replied, and this earned him slow, drawn out kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jfc i'm sorry I literally forgot to post this because I had been wanting to finish part three before doing so, but then I never finished part three. So here's this, so you can at least have something!!


End file.
